


but i’m here in your doorway

by hanyolo



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29984604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyolo/pseuds/hanyolo
Summary: Mac can feel his eyes on her as she makes her way to the lounge, can hear the door close and his soft footsteps as he approaches her.“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Will tells her, annoyed.She lets out a hollow laugh, “well, I really don’t want Brian hanging around the newsroom for two weeks.”// mackenzie’s relationship with brian wasn’t as it seemed and she’s finally ready to open up to will
Relationships: Will McAvoy/MacKenzie McHale
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	but i’m here in your doorway

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone, i’m back with another voicemail fic because that’s my jam. so this one is set during the blackout part 2 (i think) and starts at the scene where mac and brian are at hang chew’s and goes from there. (i may have played about with the timeline of the episode a bit but i can’t remember lol) and it was inspired by mac saying “i don’t have to live up to your standards anymore” and by a handful of fics i’ve read that follow similar themes (about brian being a dick etc) and, as always, turned out longer than expected.  
> tbh i’ve been a lil unsure about posting this one but that might just be because i haven’t uploaded anything in a while idk  
> anyway i hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

“I think you’ve had enough.” 

Brian’s voice is calm, casual. (He was always good at that.) But the look on his face as he turns to her, one eyebrow raised in challenge, mouth turned up in a sneer, as though he’s daring her to question him, is enough to make MacKenzie’s skin crawl. Sloan, who had been the one to offer her another drink, doesn’t seem to think anything of it, but she does shoot Brian a dirty look before heading back to the others, spare cocktail in hand. 

MacKenzie, on the other hand, is frozen on the spot, can feel the blood rushing in her ears, nausea rising in her chest, is finding it increasingly difficult to draw breaths. Brian hasn’t seemed to notice, has gone back to badmouthing Will. 

But she can picture it, clear as anything, can hear it in her head: Brian sneering at her as he roughly pulls her wine glass out her hands so she can’t pour herself anymore. Depending on his mood he would maybe throw the glass across the room, eyes flashing dangerously as she flinched at his touch. 

“Hey,” he would say, voice gentle but firm, fingers digging into her forearm. “I’m just taking care of you.”

Then, more often than not, he would proceed to get shit-faced and she would spend the rest of the night trying to talk him down (or, on some occasions, hiding in another room until he passed out on the sofa).

The mornings after would be full of apologies, declarations of love, promises that he would never do it again. Of course, these were empty promises and they both knew it. 

Yet she went back to him every time. 

_Not this time_ , Mac thinks fiercely, anger rising to replace the initial feeling of panic. 

“I have to go.” She doesn’t give an explanation beyond that, doesn’t even bother to put her coat on as she gathers her things in her arms, throws down a twenty dollar bill to cover her drinks. She only had one but she’s absolutely not going to give him something else to hold over her. Leaves Brian sitting dumbfounded at the bar as he can only watch her leave. 

The cab ride to Will’s is a bit of a blur and, if she’s being honest, she doesn’t remember giving the cabbie Will’s address until the car pulls up outside his building. This is fine, she thinks; maybe her anger will fuel her, give her the courage she’s been looking for since Will first told her it would be Brian doing the piece on News Night. 

So she frantically presses the buzzer for his apartment (he sounds confused through the intercom but he lets her in anyway), desperately trying to hold onto this rage as she calls the elevator to take her up to his apartment.  


And then she sees him, barefoot in his pyjamas, a soft look on his face as he looks down at her, and the panic comes back full force. 

“I never told you the whole truth,” she blurts out breathlessly, fingernails digging into her palms as her eyes frantically flit from his chin to his hairline, eventually settling somewhere on his right shoulder. “About me and Brian.”

Will exhales, slow and long, leaning against the entryway. He frowns, but she thinks it’s more out of confusion than anything else. Although she doesn’t know how he could possibly be surprised that she’s bringing up Brian now when he’s the one that brought him into the newsroom. 

“Trust me,” Will says, voice flat and cold. “I don’t need any more details.”

“ _Will_ ,” her voice breaks slightly and she knows she sounds desperate, but she needs him to hear her out. Needs to tell him what she should have told him years ago. Teeth tugging at her bottom lip, she meets his eyes now, is taken aback by the look of worry and concern he is giving her. Brows furrowed, Will lets out a reluctant sigh and steps aside to let her past. 

Mac can feel his eyes on her as she makes her way to the lounge, can hear the door close and his soft footsteps as he approaches her. 

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Will tells her, annoyed.

She lets out a hollow laugh, “well, I really don’t want Brian hanging around the newsroom for two weeks.”

“Mac, what’s going on?” He asks, a frown on his face. 

She doesn’t know how to tell him, where to even begin. Can’t seem to stop moving, fists clenching and unclenching, a tightness in her chest, a lump forming in her throat, as she starts to pace the length of his living room, body radiating a nervous energy she can’t quite get under control. 

Her eyes scan the room, coming to land on the drinks tray he keeps on the sideboard. She pours herself a glass of scotch with trembling hands and downs it. This seems to help a little as she finds she can now focus on Will without wanting to throw up. 

“Should we sit down?” Will gestures awkwardly to the sofa, concern still very much evident on his face. Mac shakes her head. 

“You sit down. Please.”

So he does and she can feel his eyes tracking her as she paces once more, hands knitted together as she tries to form her thoughts into something coherent. 

“Do you remember when we started dating?” She begins, hoping she’ll figure out what she wants to say as she goes. “And I told you Brian had been a really shitty boyfriend?”

Will nods at this. He looks uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere else, talking about absolutely anything but this. But she has to tell him, has kept it to herself for far too long. Needs to tell someone, and it was always going to be him. 

“It was more than that,” she says softly, coming to a stop in front of him. Finally meets his questioning gaze. 

“Brian was —“ Mac pauses, searching for the words. Clears her throat to keep her voice from breaking. “He was very controlling. And manipulative. There was definitely some rage issues there.” She laughs, bitter and sarcastic, shrugs one shoulder. “He was very good at making me feel like nothing I ever did was good enough. You know — he’d say all this shit, telling me how lucky I was that he put up with me, that I was never going to find anyone else. And I believed him.”

Will looks like he wants to say something — or hit something. So she’s grateful when he stands and wordlessly pours himself a drink instead. He tops up her glass, too, and she doesn’t miss the tremble in his hands. He returns to the sofa and she settles beside him, body angled towards him slightly, hands clasped in her lap. 

“But he never hit me,” Mac goes on when it becomes clear that Will has managed to regain his composure. She sounds a lot more certain than she feels; it’s not going to take much for her to lose it. “And I’d never been in a serious relationship before so I thought maybe this is how it’s supposed to be, maybe it was normal to only be happy fifty percent of the time.”

“Then what happened?” Will asks hoarsely, hands gripping his glass so hard she worries it’s going to crack under the pressure. 

“Then he broke up with me.” She let’s out a watery sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob doesn’t bother wiping away the tears that have finally spilled out. She’s almost ashamed to admit it because it’s not a dramatic end by any means. There was no explosive argument, there was no epiphany where she realised just how toxic their relationship was. Just Brian deciding he’d had enough of her. And MacKenzie left broken and devastated. “And I was left wondering what I’d done wrong.”

Will is staring intently at his hands in his lap, jaw set and shoulders tense, an unreadable look on his face. Mac wonders if she should stop, if coming here had been a bad idea. What is she really hoping to achieve by making Will listen to all this? Maybe she’s just wasting both their time. But when she shifts slightly, exhales shakily, his face softens and he turns to meet her gaze, she understands that this is something they both need to get through. 

“Then I met you,” she continues quietly, voice softening at the look in his eyes. She wants to reach for him, to touch him, but she knows that’s the last thing either of them need right now. Not in the middle of this conversation she should have had with him almost six years ago. “And you loved me. Plain and simple. You were so good to me and you never asked for anything in return. And I just — Brian put me down for so long that I never believed anyone could ever love me the way you did.” She does reach for him now, gently presses her hand to his before pulling back with a sad smile and a waver in her voice as she says, “I never knew love could be like that.”

And it hurts to think about. Because Will really was the perfect guy and, in a moment of weakness, she fucked everything up and hurt the only man who’d ever truly loved her. And probably the only man she’s ever truly loved too, if she’s being honest. Even now, after everything she’s done, he’s listening to her so attentively, looking at her with so much care and concern, hanging onto her every word. 

His lips move slightly and MacKenzie thinks he might be murmuring her name, so she goes on, desperate to get the words out before he can interrupt her again, desperate to tell him this before he decides he doesn’t want to hear anymore. 

“When he started calling again,” she explains quietly, no longer able to meet his eyes. “I only answered because I wanted to prove him wrong. But he’s always known how to push my buttons.”

“MacKenzie,” Will murmurs again, slightly more audible this time. Bringing his hand up to her chin, he gently tilts her head so she is looking at him. She can’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze, can feel the tears filling her eyes, can barely swallow past the lump in her throat. But when she eventually does, all she sees is understanding. This somehow makes her feel worse. 

“It was never about you, Billy,” MacKenzie cries frantically, surprises them both when she reaches for his hands, clutching them desperately as the tears spill from her eyes. “You have to believe me.”

Will doesn’t speak for a long time, doesn’t take his eyes off her either. She can see the gears turning in his head, the wrinkle in his brow that means he is processing what’s been said. She’s trying to be patient, to give him this time. He did, after all, let her say what she had to say without interrupting. But the silence is palpable, the intensity of his gaze almost daunting. She wishes she knew what he were thinking, that she could read the look on his face. They never used to have a problem with that. 

Eventually, once Mac has already reached a point where she thinks she meet just cry out of sheer embarrassment or despair, Will gently lets go of her hand before raising his arm in invitation. Now she does cry, a loud sob escaping as she tucks herself into his side, his chest firm underneath her cheek, his arms wrapped around her, one hand gently combing through her hair the way he knows she likes. And it’s almost too familiar, almost too intimate, and she can’t quite shake the thought of _what next? What does this mean?_ But right now it’s exactly what she needs. 

_He’s_ exactly what she needs. 

Will seems content to hold her, to let her cry into his shirt as he soothes her, murmurs words of comfort into her hair. Even after her tears have subsided and her breathing has evened out, they sit together on the sofa, comforting each other at this point, MacKenzie thinks. For all his calm composure, it can’t have been easy for Will to hear all of this tonight. 

“I’m sorry,” MacKenzie murmurs, pushing herself up on his chest to meet his gaze. Will rests one hand on her cheek, thumb gently tracing her cheekbone, and it’s almost enough to make the tears start again. “I should have left him,” she continues, voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have gone back to him. When you were right there. I —“

Will sits up so suddenly that she falls forward, his hands reaching out to stop her. He moves his hands to her shoulders, leans towards her slightly, eyes looking intently into hers. 

“MacKenzie,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “The way Brian treated you wasn’t your fault.”

And it’s the first time she’s heard those words; Will is the first person she’s told about this. It feels freeing and suffocating all at once. The simultaneous feeling of a weight being lifted from her shoulders and a tightening in her chest means that all she can do is nod, teeth pressing so hard into her bottom lip she’s sure she can taste blood. 

Will’s hands move to her face, cupping gently as he traces gentle lines with his thumbs. He takes her by surprise when he leans forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead before engulfing her in a hug. She’s quick to return the hug, has always loved how safe and secure he’s made her feel with his body wrapped around hers like this, so solid and warm. 

A glance at the clock tells MacKenzie that she should really head home if she wants the slightest chance of getting a decent amount of sleep tonight. It’s nearing midnight and she’s surprised she’s been here for that long. Reluctantly, she disentangles herself from Will’s arms, despite knowing that she could quite happily spend all night here. She stands with a groan, stretches her arms above her head before reaching for her coat that she had discarded on the floor at some point. 

“Are you leaving?” Will stands too, kind of half reaches for her as he looks at her with wide eyes and furrowed brows. 

“Yeah.” She nods, “I need to go home.”

He’s frowning, looks like he’s about to object, and she understands where he’s coming from, understands why he isn’t quite ready for her to go. But she also just really needs to be alone tonight. So she sighs softly and says to him, eyes pleading, “Will, please.”

And there’s a look of panic on his face that she feels immediately guilty about, but he quickly soothes it into mere concern and makes her promise to text him when she gets home. 

He insists on walking her all the way downstairs, waits with her until she can flag down a cab. And it’s sweet, in his own Will way that used to make her melt when he would show her this side of him. She understands his need to protect her, probably more than most after he opened up to her about his childhood. But she’s glad he’s letting her go home without a fight, if not just because she thinks she would’ve stayed if he asked again. 

(Part of her wishes he would.)

.

Will lets her go. He wants, more than anything, to convince her to stay, has a thousand excuses on the tip of his tongue. But he understands that she needs space and time to process and work through what she’s just told him. That the way he can be there for her just now is by giving this to her, by letting her leave. 

So he walks her to the door, makes her promise to text him when she’s home. And when she does, a text that says _that’s me home_ with a little smiley face, it takes everything in him not to pick up the phone and call her. 

Instead, he goes to bed. Or tries to. With her words running through his mind a million miles an hour, the way she’d looked up at him nervously through her bangs, chewing on her bottom lip so hard he was certain she’d draw blood, he spends the whole night tossing and turning before eventually getting up at three to pour himself a drink and sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so small before. And he has no fucking clue how he missed all the signs. He knew she was upset that Brian would be hanging around the newsroom, Mac had flat out told him she didn’t want him there. And she had told him when they first got together that her relationship with Brian had been tumultuous at best, sometimes even toxic. And Will hadn’t even questioned it, had been so sure that they were going to get married one day that it didn’t matter that she’d had a shitty ex-boyfriend. Because _he_ was going to treat her right. 

Then when she’d admitted to cheating on him, he’d been too angry to even consider the possibility that the situation wasn’t as black and white as he wanted to believe. 

He doesn’t make it into the office until after his appointment with Habib, and isn’t that a fucking revelation? After hours of uncertainty and agonising over what to say to her, with Habib’s words running through his brain on repeat, Will manages to dodge Sloan, Gary and Jim, as he weaves through the bullpen to get to Mac’s office. 

_While you’re working your way through this you’re hurting Mackenzie._ As though this wasn’t something he head already been aware of. As though it hadn’t been another thing to add to his endless list of reasons for self-loathing and guilt. As though he hasn’t been aware of how deserving of his forgiveness she is, how much effort she’s put into showing him that she’s still there, that she’ll be there for as long as he needs.

So he barges into her office and, maybe he should’ve planned what he wanted to say first, but he has a pretty solid success rate with spontaneous declarations and speeches so, you know, what could go wrong?

The first thing that goes wrong is that MacKenzie is wearing her glasses. She swivels her chair as he comes in, looking up at him expectantly, glasses perched on the end of her nose. Which feels unfair because he’s always loved her in glasses. She takes them off and places them on her desk, leans back in her chair with a soft sigh, arms folded across her chest and bottom lip tucked between her teeth. And, of course, this flusters him to the point where he briefly forgets why he came in in the first place. Then she tilts her head, bangs falling into her eyes, and he knows there’s no going back. 

“Okay,” Will begins, hopes she doesn’t notice the slight tremble in his voice or the way he can’t stop his hands from shaking, “I heard what you said yesterday and now it’s my turn to speak.”

He pauses expectantly, doesn’t continue until she acquiesces with a slightly stunned nod, eyes confused but focused entirely on him. 

“My mom forgave my dad over and over again and I never understood it. Sometimes I hated her for it. And I thought if I forgave you it would make me weak or stupid, but it’s nothing like that. It took me a long time — too long — to realise that the opposite is true.”

He suddenly feels awkward, spouting all this shit as he stands in the middle of her office, hands shoved into his pockets to try to keep from gesticulating so much. It hasn’t really worked, has just sent the energy to his legs instead. So he drops into the seat opposite her, forearms resting on his thighs as he leans forward to look into her eyes. 

“Three years ago, you made a stupid mistake that hurt us both. And you’ve been punishing yourself for it ever since.” He sits up now, expression earnest and voice undoubtedly sincere as he tells her, “you deserve my forgiveness and I’m sorry it’s taken this long.”

MacKenzie’s mouth falls open slightly and she regards him with a thoughtful, if somewhat astonished, look on her face. 

“Okay,” is her response, voice quiet and controlled. She nods once then leans back in her chair, worries her bottom lip between her teeth. But he recognises the cautious optimism on her face, the hope in her eyes. He doesn’t miss the way her fingers tighten their grip on her armrests, however, and he knows her well enough to know that she wants to be left alone. 

“Okay,” Will echoes back softly before rising to his feet and making his way to the door. He can feel the weight of her gaze on him the whole time. 

“Brian won’t be back,” he announces suddenly, turning back just in time to see her wipe away a stray tear. And doesn’t that just make him feel like the biggest asshole in the world? 

“And I’m sorry,” he adds. Because he really is. 

“Brian’s gone?”

“Yeah.”

MacKenzie smiles now, a real smile that makes her eyes crinkle at the sides. And, not for the first time does Will find himself wishing he could make her this happy all the time. Not that he has any right to be on the receiving end of this smile right now or in recent weeks, something Mac seems to realise too, because she is quick to knit her brows together in a frown, narrows her eyes at him. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she says pointedly. 

“I know.” And he should really do something about the soft, tender tone of his voice right now, is almost certain the expression on his face matches it. But that’s not easy to do when Mac’s lips are quirking up at the side as she tries to maintain this façade of annoyance. And Will is beyond relieved that he’s let himself forgive her, that he doesn’t have to pretend anymore. Because sometimes she looks up at him, like now, and he doesn’t know how he ever let her go. 

“And I still don’t think we should be covering Casey Anthony,” she adds. 

“I know.”

They are both openly smiling now and Will is gradually becoming aware that he needs to do something now or say something, because surely they can’t stand around all day staring into each other’s eyes?

Mac looks away first, a red tint to her cheeks as she fondly rolls her eyes, turns back to her computer. She has forgotten to put her glasses back on so she squints at the screen, leans closer to it. 

And Will recalls many a night when they first got together, back when MacKenzie was still in denial about needing reading glasses, spent reading out loud to her from her laptop because she couldn’t quite make out the words. He would tease her and make fun of her, never quite able to hide the affection in his voice, and she would feign anger and annoyance, eventually giving in when he would tickle her or press soft kisses wherever he could reach, her peals of laughter letting him know he’d been forgiven.

He’s surprised to realise the memory no longer causes pain and bitterness, rather a feeling of fondness and nostalgia. He can’t help but wonder if MacKenzie is able to look back on their relationship with this same sentimental wistfulness, or if it leaves her feeling the same regret and sorrow he’s not long past himself.

His mind flashes to their relationship, how happy they were, how in love. But, before he can stop it, another thought creeps into his head and he can’t quite shake it. Will is also aware that he’s been on his way out the door for about five minutes now, but this is a conversation that has to be had, as unpleasant as it may be. And since they have both spent the past eighteen months skirting around any mention of their past and getting by on carefully constructed conversations and half-truths, he thinks it’s very unlikely that either of them will be all too eager to bring it up again. 

“Can I ask you something?”

MacKenzie’s expression softens, eyes open and questioning, as she turns to face him once more. 

“You can ask me anything,” she says softly, and he doesn’t doubt this for a second. 

“You would tell me, right?” He doesn’t know where this is coming from, this sudden panic. And he’s almost certain he has no need to even ask. But if he’d been too wrapped up in her to see what was right in front of him, he can only wonder what else he’s missed. “If I ever did something that made you uncomfortable? If I ever—“ 

_Hurt you_ , he wants to say, can’t quite bring himself to finish his sentence. Because he has hurt her. Frequently. Maybe not the way Brian did, maybe not the way she hurt him. But he’s spent so long punishing her, so long shutting her out, that he has to be hurting her. Now he can looking back on the past year or so with open-minded clarity, he’s definitely hurt her far more than she ever deserved. And he can’t believe it’s taken him this long to see it. 

MacKenzie lets out a soft sound, almost like a whimper, frown lines etching themselves between her brows as she rises and comes to stand in front of him. She brings her hands to his face, thumbs gently tracing his cheekbones, looks him right in the eye and whispers,

“I always felt safe around you, Billy.”

Will leans into her touch, wants to reach for her but he doesn’t know how she would respond, doesn’t know if he has any right to anymore. So he lowers his gaze, exhales softly, and lets himself be surrounded by MacKenzie. Her warmth, her scent, the kindness in her eyes as she looks up at him. 

She’s always known exactly what to say, or maybe it’s that she’s always known exactly what he’s needed to hear. Either way, standing with her in her office, with inches between them, her nails lightly carding the hair at the nape of his neck, he also can’t believe it’s taken him to realise he’s still in love with her. That she’s all he needs, all he’s ever going to need. 

Smiling softly, Mac steps back slightly. Her hands drop to her sides but Will catches one in mid-air, tangles his fingers with hers. 

“There was a voicemail,” he says, and he knows he sounds desperate now, like he’s pleading with her. But that’s because he is now. He watches her face to see if there’s a flicker of recognition, but nothing changes beyond the slight furrow of her brow. 

“A voicemail?” 

“I left you a voicemail,” Will explains. “The night of the bin Laden broadcast.”

It is clear that she has no idea what he’s talking about, and he is filled with an immense feeling of relief and gratitude when he realises that she never turned him down. She wouldn’t have been able to because she never got the message. 

“And what did it say?” Mac asks. She sounds a little bit annoyed now, letting go of his hand to rest her hands on her hips as she tilts her head at him impatiently. And he supposes this is fair. He’s not being intentionally vague but this is a pretty big deal. And it’s only just now occurring to him that just because she didn’t turn him down before, doesn’t mean she won’t turn him down now. With this in mind, he presses on, somehow even more nervous than when he had barged into her office unannounced ten minutes ago. 

“It said—“ he hesitates slightly, shrugs his shoulders as he meets her gaze. She looks nervous now, worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks up at him with questioning eyes. “It said I love you. Well, to be more precise, I told you that I never stopped loving you. And then I went on to say some more shit. But that’s the gist of it. That I love you.”

MacKenzie doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s maybe about twenty seconds, but each second seems to drag by as Will waits anxiously for her response, trying desperately to read every tiny imperceptible detail of her current facial expression. Other than a slight furrow of her brow, she isn’t giving him much to go by. 

“Dammit, Will,” she mutters and he’s horrified to see her eyes fill with tears. Some spill out onto her cheeks and she wipes at them with a watery laugh. “You’re an idiot. And I love you too.”

He’s struggling to formulate a response, very much aware that his mouth is hanging open as her words replay in his head. And he’s starting to think he should just kiss her instead — he really wants to kiss her — when there’s a soft knock at the door. It opens and Jim pops his head in, an apologetic look on his face. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, cheeks slightly pink, and Will is once more reminded about the complete and utter lack of privacy afforded to them by these glass offices, and whose terrible idea was that major design flaw? “Are you guys coming to the rundown meeting?”

Mac nods, glancing briefly at Jim before settling her gaze on Will once more. 

“We’ll be right there,” she says. 

Jim disappears and Will allows himself one last longing look at MacKenzie before he makes his way to the door. 

Then — _screw it_ , he thinks, turning back and crossing the room in two strides. 

There’s a flash of disappointment on her face that quickly softens into something else entirely when she realises what he’s doing, and she reaches for him the exact moment he slants his lips over hers in a searing kiss. 

And he forgets about Jim and the rundown meeting and all the shit they’ve been through to get here. Can only focus on MacKenzie, her lips soft under his, her hands clutching the back of his sweater as she holds him close, the soft gasp that escapes when he splays his hand across her lower back so he can hold her firmly against him. MacKenzie here with him right now, forever if she’ll have him. Because he’s spent far too long without her and he’s finally reached a place where he’s been able to forgive her, where he’s _wanted_ to forgive her. And isn’t that more important in a way? He’s chosen to forgive her, chosen to let her back into his life. And he never wants to let her go. 

Mac nips at his lower lip then soothes it with her tongue as she brings one hand up to cup his face. And Will really thinks they should put a stop to this, they are at work after all, in her office that is very much made of glass. But then he trails one hand along her waist and she squirms, exhales in a breathless gasp and he starts to think it might be a good idea for them both to head home for the day. Together, of course.

It’s Mac who breaks the kiss, pushing up on her tiptoes so she can rest her forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed as she tries to get her breath back. Will is equally breathless, hands resting firmly on her waist. 

“I love you,” he says softly. 

Smiling, MacKenzie presses a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Love you, too,” she tells him.

They could stay like this forever, he thinks. Or at least until Jim or someone else comes looking for them again. So Will reluctantly pulls away, laughing at the pout forming on Mac’s face, despite feeling the exact same. 

“Let’s go,” he says quietly but neither of them move straightaway, not quite ready to leave the bubble of intimacy they’ve created. 

Eventually, Mac lets out a soft sigh and heads to the door, smiling at him over her shoulder as she goes. Will follows.

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally supposed to be a little episode tag that didn’t really diverge much from canon but i just love to see these crazy kids get together any way i can so here we are
> 
> thanks for reading! 💞


End file.
